


Old Bones and Memories

by Rachael Sabotini (wickedwords)



Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: M/M, Winternight, Yuletide, Yuletide 2005
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-25
Updated: 2005-12-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 21:38:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedwords/pseuds/Rachael%20Sabotini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The veil between the worlds wears thin on winternight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Bones and Memories

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Carla for Yuletide 2005. Thanks to elynross for the beta.

Perching carefully on the long, low bench near the fire, Raoul of Goldenlake pulled his cloak tight as he watched the room fill up with Winternight celebrants. The rest of his patrol scattered themselves around the tavern, glad of the respite. They had been a month on the border, slogging along snowy roads and across frozen rivers, and into skirmishes with the thieves, bandits, and raiders that preyed on the outer villages in winter.  
In the year since he'd joined the King's Own, Raoul had had his share of fighting. He glanced around the tavern, noting that all of his companions had seen better days -- Alex of Brokenhills sported a new scar on his right cheek, while Coray of Stormsbreath was as pale and drawn as a Winternight sprite. In fact, the King's Own all looked thin and stretched by their adventures; Raoul knew he'd become lean as a greyhound himself, his clothes no longer fitting him. No wonder they had been granted two days leave.

Winternight was only celebrated here in the Northern mountains, and the village of Traderhaven was dressed for the occasion, windows covered with bright-colored fabrics and the statue in the public square sporting a blindfold of gaudy blue. Even the tavern, the Spideran Defeated, was bedecked in golds and reds and blues that shimmered in the fading sunlight for this, the longest night of the year.

All the lanterns were lit, providing a warm and welcoming light that was a sharp contrast to the dark, moonless night outside the tavern's front door. The windows were sealed, too, shutters roped closed and curtains drawn, so that no wandering spirits could enter without going through the front door. Above the lintel, Raoul could see the glowing script that some local mage had written to keep away malice-filled sprites.

He stretched out, leaning back with a grateful sigh at finally having room to stretch out. While Winternight celebrated the return of the sun and the changing of the seasons, it also remembered the past. Food and drink were set out for both the living and the more-pleasant but still inhuman wanderers who trod the earth this night, so that all could celebrate. There was a musician who played a few tunes, and a year's worth of stories were told while ale and wine flowed, the tavern keeper watching his profits grow.

"Raoul!" A deep voice called from near the front door, and Raoul twisted away from the musician to see who it was. A grin spread across his face as he recognized Pertam of Summersfield, one of the pages a year or so behind him when he had been squired.

"Perty!" Raoul cried. "Come, sit with me. I had no idea you were stationed here."

"Just arrived." Brown-haired and laughing, his lips in a permanent grin, Pertam made his way thought the crowd easily, probably not even seeing the swirl of people around him. Perty had a lazy way to him that Raoul knew was an act. He'd seen Perty fight, had stood at his back in a couple of brawls that weren't to be mentioned in polite company, and was quite aware that Perty was as sharp as the knife he kept hidden in his boot.

Perty sat down just as the bushy-haired tavern keeper bustled up to the table -- a remarkable feat, considering his bulk. "All right, good sir, your dinner." He placed the platter full of meat and vegetables and fresh white bread on the table, then held out his worn hand to be paid.

Perty gently laid two fine-boned fingers on the tavern owner's thick wrist. "My treat," he said softly. "Make sure my friend has plenty to eat." With that, his fingers twitched, revealing a thin gold coin. "Make sure there is wine to go with it, too."

With a sharp, wide-eyed nod, the tavern owner backed away, sliding the coin carefully into his pocket.

Raoul shook his head. "You paid too much for that. Life must be treating you well, to be so easy with your money."

"What else do I have to spend it on, if not my friends?" Perty said, clapping Raoul's shoulder. "Besides, you look like you need the food. You're almost as thin as when you tried to sneak that extra slice of pie into your room that one midwinter. You remember--"

"How could I forget? I had to clean out the stables every morning the for next two weeks!" And with that, they wandered into their memories, talking of home and family, and life in the castle and how being a page differed from life in the field. They told old jokes and tales of mutual friends, and Raoul ate until he thought his stomach would burst.

"If only I had my dice," Raoul said, eyeing his empty plate, "I would give you the chance to win back what you paid for my meal."

Perty reached into his cloak and pulled out a small blue pouch, dangling it in front of Raoul's face. "Have you ever known me to be without dice?"

Remembering the look on Perty's face when the majordomo had confiscated them one year -- and the extra chores Perty had had to do to gain them back -- Raoul laughed, grabbing the bag from Perty's hand. "I don't think the Black God himself could keep you from throwing old bones."

"That's true," Perty said with a self-effacing smile. "I'd dice with the Graveyard Hag herself, if it came to it." He shifted on his chair, his movement silent in the loud, crowded hall. "Throw the bones, my friend, and let's see what you lose tonight."

They were fairly matched, and Raoul was surprised by his run of luck, always enough to keep him in the game, but never so much that he felt the need to take his winnings and go. Perty was good company, too, and they talked of their adventures -- Perty against the pirates on the sea coast, and Raoul among the mountains. The tavern keeper came by to refill his glass on many occasions.

Shouting from the crowd drew Raoul's attention, and he glanced up to see the tavern owner throwing open the front door, and several helpers untying the window ropes. The dark night was over, and light could be seen fading it to a pale grey.

"Oh."

Perty's voice was small and quiet, and when Raoul looked at him, all the color in his cheeks seem to have faded. "Are you ill?" he asked softly, pressing his hand against Perty's cheek and brow to test for fever. Now that he thought on it, Perty had not eaten or drunk anything all evening; perhaps it was simply that.

"Here," he said, searching the table for some water. "Drink this. It's probably nothing."

"No, I must go." Perty stood, and the chair made no noise as he pushed it back. "I just wish... I needed more time." There was pain in his eyes as he looked at Raoul, and the room grew silent around them, as if they were completely alone. "We had a good night, didn't we?" he said, his voice quavering.

Raoul saw now that Perty was more than pale, that he was in fact fading with the dawn light. "The best," Raoul said quietly, and closed his eyes as Perty's lips brushed sweetly against his cheek.

The noise of the crowd dragged Raoul back to the tavern, and when he opened his eyes, the bag of dice was sitting in front of him on the table, while Perty's kiss lingered on his cheek. Dawn streamed in through the windows and doors, fresh air sweeping out the staleness of the night.

Winternight was done, and soon he would have to return to camp. Raoul scooped up the dice bag and placed it carefully in his pouch, the weight of old bones and memories riding hard against his thigh. He flexed his hands, and carefully settled his cloak about his shoulders, ignoring the way his eyes stung from sitting so long near the fire. The time for games was past. THE END  



End file.
